Uncorrupted eyes filled with melted gold,
Spilling down from her pétillant eyes,
My heart breaking and calling out for her,
So adorable and precious four year old,
Wearing a cute black frock, lace teared on the edges.
With stain of mud and ichor on it,
Scratches on her shoulders and on her face,
Not so unusual these days, I must say.
Wincing every once in a while,
There are people around her, is it her family?
If it is, then why they're not consoling her?
Why not even one of them is holding her?
So many questions in my mind,
Oh, but my heart is filling with sadness for her,
Though my heart was already filled with sadness,
So adding more sadness now isn't such a bad idea.
Sad for that little girl and for me too.
The colour of my tears are tawny brown though.
The colour of my soul is scotch mist now.
So I found myself loitering around in the dark .
Hiding behind the mists,
Doing peek-a-boo to this innocent child,
And what a surprise!
She smiled and her tears stopped,
She's not scared of my obsidian darkness,
Oh, I now believe in miracles.
Indeed miracles are so rare and captivating.
But not always it fills your heart with happiness.
Not so much like your miracles, right!
This miracle was not consist of bright colours.
This miracle was black, like myself.
And surprisingly, in that moment I realized that; I AM BEAUTIFUL TOO.
Even though my colours are not filled with bright colours,
I am elegant with my own dark colours.